


Wheel of Time Sexual Practices

by gqsa



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Blow Job, Cannon, Coercion, Compulsion, Deepthroat, Degradation, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Feet, Fingering, Fisting, Foot Fetish, Forsaken, Gag, Kink, Kissing, Lesbian, Limes and lemons, Mind Control, Morning Routine, Nipple Play, Objectification, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rand al'Thor - Freeform, Rape, Servants, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content, Slaves, Spitroast, Torture, Trophy, Word Porn, asswipe - Freeform, belly bulge, breast skewer, dark smut, defiled, good wheel of time porn, indulgence, make out, moiraine porn, shoulder deep, virgin, wheel of time - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gqsa/pseuds/gqsa
Summary: Chapter 1: What really happened in the Towers of Midnight between Moiraine, Lanfear, and MoridinChapter 2: Moghedien catches Elayne and Nynaeve unaware, extorts information from them, and uses... excessive measures to get awayChapter 3: Graendal prepares for her day with the help of her highest profile trophiesNew Chapter with all the WoT beauty queens!Hey! Drop a comment [they're anonymous ;) ] on what you liked/disliked, and kudos. Thanks in advance and enjoy!
Relationships: Graendal/Berelain sur Paendrag, Graendal/Isendre, Graendal/Lanfear, Graendal/Moiraine Damodred, Graendal/Morgase Trakand, Moghedien/Elayne Trakand, Moghedien/Nynaeve al'Meara, Moiraine Damodred/Lanfear | Cyndane, Moiraine Damodred/Moridin
Comments: 25
Kudos: 16





	1. Draining Moiraine - Tower of Ghenjei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happened in the Towers of Midnight between Moiraine, Lanfear, and Moridin

Lanfear never thought she would be happy to see Moridin. He strolled into the washed purple walls of the eelfin as if he was here to retrieve a package, a smug look on his face. He didn’t look at her, nor did he look at the wench hanging by her arms beside Lanfear. The primitive Aes Sedai was the reason Lanfear was trapped in the towers of midnight. Wrapped in silks of blue that covered a figure of more youth than her ageless face suggested, Moiraine Damodred might be called beautiful. If she was not hung beside Lanfear.

Moriden surveyed his surroundings, all except the women in the centre. The room towered stories high, with nothing but pillars in the corners where board little fox-creatures wrung their hands in anticipation.

“No,” Moridin finally said.

No, what? Did the eelfin not have the courtesy to discuss Lanfear’s fate where she could hear?

Moridin’s eyes rose as if noticing the centre pieces for the first time. He did not look at Lanfear though. Instead, his eyes raked the Aes Sedai. Lanfear had no designs on the man who had been called Ishamael. But she would not be overlooked for this ape of a woman. She tried to speak, but her tongue and lips ignored her. She could only scowl in her mind’s eye as this little, pale child-woman caught a man’s eye over her.

***

Moridin scanned the eelfin’s proposition. A slender-bodied Cairheinin with a supple bust and doll face, all framed by long chocolate locks. She dangled by her wrists, slowly rocking, her feet pointed downward like a dancer. Moridin had never seen something so worthless in his life.

And the eelfin were willing to eat her connection to the One Power in place of Lanfear? Fools. Well, at least he’d get Lanfear back, to torment one last time before putting her to sleep for good. The Dark One was done with her. She seemed good for no more than Boring the hole into the prison at Shayol Ghul. She too, was worthless. Scowling at the primitive Aes Sedai as if she were any better with those midnight tresses, long body, and perfect face. There was beauty in flaws. Ilyena had few flaws, but it was the hatric of beauty spots on her breasts, navel, and lower regions that set her apart from the other slender blondes of her time. What were these two woman in comparison to her? Lews Therin did not deserve her—

Commands came in from the eelfin. They were hungry, and if he didn’t get to work, they’d feed off Lanfear. She was his. Lews Therin’s pet. She was his to destroy. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone here.

Moridin drew on the True Source. He weaved Earth below Lanfear, forming a pole that rose form the purple flooring. It was four inches thick and as uncut as rocks outside. Lanfear’s feet parted as it climbed as if she accepted the pole. Yet it was her bindings preventing her from fighting back. Nothing but her eyes moved, but it was fixed on Moridin, the hate he had been ignoring now replaced by horror. Well, it was her fault. She didn’t know how to obey without fear.

The jaggad pole slipped beneath her skirts, rising, shifting her a little as it undoubtedly made contact with her nethers. The weaves binding her seemed to budge for a moment and with it, her hate returned, mixing with the pleading fear in her eyes.

Moridin stopped the pole.

Lanfear breathed.

Now that he had her attention, he spoke. “If you don’t made this Aes Sedai cum by time I do, you’ll find that pole in your cervix.”

The hate in Lanfear’s eyes vanished, and Moridin knew he would not see it again until after this ordeal was over. She didn’t know this ordeal would never be over for her.

Moridin shifted Lanfear around the back of Moiraine such that her head lined with the Aes Sedai’s little Cairhienin bottom. He formed steps up to Moiraine by weaving threads of Air. When face to face with her, he studied her closer.

He’d seen this one before. She wasn’t just a noblewoman, no. She was the one who had guided Lews Therin out of his hands. Oh, he would ensure she had a ghastly good time.

He caressed her cheek, a moment of gentleness to remember Ilyena, and ran his finger across the plump of her lower lip. The red flesh, though soft looking, rasped. He spat in her face and moisturised her lips to glistening glory.

Below, Lanfear stared up at the Aes Sedai as if disgusted.

It had to be done. Moridin channelled the True Source and set the pole below her to rise steadily. Lanfear shuddered, and Moridin released her mouth from the binding. He allowed her shouts and curses to take over. They were fine. Soon they’d be replaced by screams. Her body rose an inch. He changed the weave that prevented her whole body from moving, to just hold her torso. She screamed immediately.

“I’ll do it I’ll do it!” Lanfear cried, but Moridin only slowed the pole. It would still force its way into her, eventually.

“Make her cum. And you’re only allowed to use her ass.”

Moridin lowered his hand from the Aes Sedai’s serene face and down to her little collar bones. These were nice. Her skin was, too. Milky, smooth. He leaned into her and pressed his lips to her soft cheek. Her flesh formed to his face, and her scent of refined lilies and musks filled him. It was time. His fingers ran down her collar bone to her dress, and he yanked her silks off. He let it drop to the floor in the same motion it flicker the woman’s flacid nipples.

Moridin flicked them both, hard. In a second, the little aereola swelled, goosebumps forming around the nipple. But the woman didn’t stir.

Below, Lanfear screamed. “Stop it! It’s going in! She isn’t even awake! How am I going to make her cum?”

“Go as deep as you need to—”

Lanfear stuck a finger out and stabbed it at the Aes Sedai so hard, the woman jerked forward, the minor soft of her breasts and belly following suit, and promply coming to rest, proving that this woman was indeed a youth, despite her ageless face.

Interesting. A child, for an Aes Sedai. But, despite the finger in her anus, this child didn’t wake. He could not drain her access to the One Power if she was asleep. Behind, several more of Lanfear’s fingers hand become involved in the thrusting.

The eelfin and their fox-like faces scowled down in frustration. “If you do not feed us, we will eat off your precious Lanfear.”

Lanfear’s eyes widened and suddenly, her thrusts died. Instead, her fingers were now all pointed like an arrowhead, aimed at Moiraine’s bottom. She prodded and pushed, jerking the supple figure forward time and time again, but the pale woman would not wake.

Lanfear needed motivation. He jerked the pole up by half an inch and immediately heard a crunch. The Chosen woman shrieked and pulled her fingers from Moiraine’s rear, cupping her own vagina with soiled fingers.

“Stop! Please! I’ll do anything!”

There was nothing left for her to do. “I hear that pain does not compare to cervix penetration. Make our pretty little Moiraine cum.”

“Wake her up then!”

Lanfear plunged her arrowhead hand into Moiraine’s bottom with such force, the Aes Sedai didn’t move forward. Instead, the form of Lanfear’s arm became visible on Moiraine’s tummy. It travelled up her lower abdomen, up the right side, all the way to below the lower rib cage, and turned towards the sternum.

Moridin grew hard. A throbbing in his groin that bulged in his pants. He placed his palm on Moirain’s tummy as Lanfear’s arm retreated and returned, pushing his palm up and out of the way as it made its way through the Aes Sedai’s deepest canals.

“This good enough?” Lanfear shrieked. Moridin could see why. Blood soaked Lanfear’s white dress at her crotch, and trickled down the rock pole. It must be almost in by now.

But that wasn’t good enough. The Aes Sedai was still asleep.

Moridin would have to assist in that regard. The eelfin would not give him much more time. They preferred to feed in quick bursts of human emotion, joy or suffering, it didn’t matter to them. This wasted time was like being placed in front of a plate of food for days and not being allowed to eat.

This Moiraine Demodred needed to wake, or Moridin wouldn’t get to see Lanfear humiliated, sexing a ‘primitive wench’ before she died. Moridin drew on the True Source. His time for wasting was done. He formed a needle of energy in his fingers, as well as more steps of air before him. Stepping up so that his hips were at the Aes Sedai’s eye level, he took a fistful of her chocolate hair and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. He undid his buckles while he did, glancing down as Lanfear’s arm snaked into and out of the petite Cairheinin’s torso.

When his cock was free, he took the pre-cum lubricated tip and pressed it against the woman’s face. Lifting her eyelid to reveal an ocean blue eye, he rubbed his want over the glossy sphere of her eye. Her clear tears mixed with the murky pre-cum and clung to her long lashes. But the woman still didn’t wake.

The eelfin all rose. “We’re taking the forsaken!”

Moridin yelled, “No! One minute!”

“I knew you couldn’t last as long as Lews Therin,” Lanfear muttered through suffering breaths.

Moridin channelled the true power and lifted the pole an entire inch. There was a soft crack, and then Lanfear’s height dropped an inch, her body accepting the pole that now bulged her belly far more than she had bulged Moiraine. Lanfear made no sound. shock, pain, who knew, but the blood staining her shapely little hips spread radially. Her shoulders slackened and her eyes lulled. But Moridin knew she could see.

Damn her. She’d pay for going limp now. Moridin bound her arm. He made it into a fist and punched through Moiraine’s rectum, deeper than before, sinking Lanfear shoulder-deep into the short Cairheinin so that their bulging tummies pushed their navels up to the sky. She actually started to stir, but didn’t wake. Her lips twitched against Moridin’s crotch as if she smelled something foul. If she didn’t wake up from that. He had one more option. Otherwise, the eelfin would be the one to get Lanfear, and the Dark One would name someone else Nae’blis.

***

Lanfear’s face was pushed into the putrid Aes Sedai’s rear crevice. The soft flesh wrapped around her face, fuming her with the soft scent of lilies that almost hid the stench of stools that were smeered across the woman’s… beautiful white skin and plump bottom. It was inconceivable how a little body like this could have such a shapely backside. It was gaping now, spread by Lanfear’s shoulder deep penetrating arm, and her face. She hated to admit it, but if her beautiful face had to be pressed into some wench’s bottom, she couldn’t think of a better little tushy than this.

If only Lanfear could feel her own behind. That had gone numb around the time she had resumed fisting Moiraine Sedai’s perfect ass.

***

It was time to show this stubborn woman why Moridin was nae’blis. He pressed his cock between Moiraine’s lips, parting her teeth with the True Power, and sliding in. Drool leaked from the woman’s mouth so there was sufficient lubricant between it and his pre-cum, which was near flowing. The problem was that he had nigh thirty seconds to wake this woman up and finish.

He loved throats. So he got to work. Sliding in past the Aes Sedai’s rough, limp tongue—careful not to accidentally make her swallow it, she couldn’t die yet—past her tonsils that tickled his head, and into the canal at the back.

Oh but her throat was small. Her mouth itself was small. But she was warm, and soft, and admittedly, lovely like a girl. He might not have enough time to make her throat accept his cock, but he could use her mouth as much as possible. He pulled out of her lips with a pop, eying her wet, parted lips, as well as the snaking arm bulging her belly, to lend him strength. His manhood throbbed like never before. He might have lied. This pale little beauty was the closest thing to perfection he’d ever seen. He wanted her throat. So he thrust back hard, grabbed her hair tight, and yanked her onto him.

His cock slid against firmness at the rear of her head. Again, and again. But it would not penetrate. He shifted her head about, finding an angle, fucking the pretty thing’s little face like a dog would fuck a bitch until finally, a gurgle, and her throat sucked in his cock, pulling her lips to the base of his stalk.

Gagging, she was gagging but she wasn’t awake. He didn’t want to ruin this body, but he had to wake her. He had ten seconds. He made the needle of True Source energy in his finger long and thick, reached down for Moiraine’s supple breasts, and took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Pulling the breast taut, he thrust his cock into her throat at the same time he shoved the dark needle of energy from the underside of her breast, up through the top. A bead of blood formed on the exit puncture and trickled over her nipple.

Which triggered another gasp, and the Aes Sedai was awake.

***

Moiraine woke to a searing pain in her chest. It felt like a claw had tried to rip out her breast. Worst still, something held her bottom spread wide while a snake travelled into and out of her body, stretching her insides mercilessly like the tales of the evil tentacle sea creatures the novices giggled about on the pillow. Worse still, was the foul stench and taste of musk and wet carpet that filled her nose and mouth. Worse, because it was a man’s penis, and it thrust into her throat, forcing her to gag, but not letting her. Reflexes convulsed her body, bending the snake within her in ways that pushed against her spine, the insides of her ribs, and her belly. Worse still, was the cold blue eyes of the forsaken, watching her being ravaged, and throbbing harder in her mouth for it. He grinned, clutched her hair and rammed, shoving her face into his pelvis. And the worst, was the building sensation in Moiraine’s own hips, a tingling that she had only felt with Siuan when they were pillow friends, stealing tastes of pleasure from each. But this time, it was magnified tenfold, radiating out through her body in waves each time the snake forced itself up her canal that was clearly too narrow, each time Moridin violated her mouth. The waves pulsed, like jolts of Lightning and Fire weaves blasting through her veins, making her body shiver, her narrow canals tighten, her toes curl, and her lips tighten around the cock that violated her lips with its filthy taste. And she let it. She let it wash over because she was so close to the edge, an edge not even the One Power could bring her to, an edge that pulsed, pulsed pulsed, pushing her to the point of total and utter annihilation.

***

The Aes Sedai was more than awake. She was sucking. Sucking him dry. This was it. This was what he needed to finish before time. He gave her what she wanted, fucking her pretty face like that filthy dog, leg raised in the air as the pressure built up inside him almost to bursting. He was about to tip over the edge from the plumpness of her soft lips, the beautiful bulge of her flat yet soft belly, her supple breasts, blood dripping over her pink nipple and pooling in her little navel, her convulsions as she choked for air and every inch of that tightened and quivered when it didn’t come. And most importantly, he was going to come to her wakeful moans of suffering pleasure with seconds to spare.

The final thrusts came, and his climax washed over him in the instant Moiraine’s eyes glazed over and her body was wracked with convulsions. He pulled out, and held his load till the last second, drawing out the pleasure while he watched the Aes Sedai’s body utterly succumb to its baser desires. The machine of Lanfear’s—long dead now—arm still tore in and out of Moiraine’s plump bottom, setting the woman’s body aflutter again and again as multiple orgasms took her. It was time, he couldn’t hold back any longer. His first squirt shot her breasts, splashing her bleeding flesh and following the stream of blood to her navel. The next squirts went into her rolled back eyes, her hair, her parted red lips, and the last few squirts went directly into her throat.

Yes, he grabbed her pretty little head by her hair and thrust into it mercilessly until she came and came and came and moved no more. Her body went slack, shoulders slumping against his legs as he _pushed_ deeper, squirting as deep into her throat as possible. Her lips no longer squeezed his cock. Her eyes were still open. He pulled out with a pop, tilted her head up to him, and stared into her vacant eyes. No, not vacant. They rolled back down and stared up at him. She’d most certainly be able to feel that her connection to the One Power was gone, sucked out with so much pleasure pain being fed off of. But, instead of crying—her eyes were tearing though, no one could have their throats fucked like that and not cry—her porcelain, Cairheinin face took on a little smirk, and she stuck out her tongue, the tip striking the tip of his cock.

A hidden squirt blasted her in an open eye, and instead of rubbing it away, Moiraine Sedai pressed her lips to his cock, pushed herself forward, and impaled her own pretty face with his cock deeper than he had been able to do. Her little body dangled there for seconds, minutes, until her eyes rolled back in her head, she convulsed, and passed out.

Wow. Moridin enjoyed her welcome for as long as his cock was hard and when he pulled out, she looked peaceful, asleep.

He withdrew his energy needle from her breast and let the blood flow freely, painting her beautiful body. He released his weaves of air and dropped back to the ground. Lanfear’s arm drew out of Moiraine, sideways along her ribs, down the side of her torso, and out. Lanfear’s body slid further down onto the pole, her cervix no doubt torn, and rested there with her bulging belly taut, holding her from falling.

The eelfin were on their podiums, rolling in ecstasy. And Moiraine still hovered there, pristine and beautiful. The blood that had pooled at her navel—now also mixed with a load of cum—dripped down the triangle of her lady parts, down the gap between her milk-white thighs and calves, and over her foot, where it trickled over her pinky toe, down the middle three digits, and to the big toe, where it pooled, forming a little droplet.

Moriden wouldn’t let that go to waste. He moisturised her feet with that mixture of their fluids, between her toes, the soles of her feet, enjoying the creases on her inside arches, her heels, and ankles. The curves of those delicate pale feet were enough to make him hard again, so he lifted himself, took her feet in his hands, pressed them together like a mini love canal, and fucked them. The creases of her instep caressed his cock. He spat on the dirty little feet, curling Moiraine’s toes, pushing them back and letting his eyes feast on the underside of her digits. He fucked those too, stretched and squeezed them. Took them between his lips. Bit them, sucked them. And squeezed again so far that he heard the little bones inside creak. His cock couldn’t take any more. He fucked and fucked her squished little pale feet silly till he squirted his juices onto the filthy things, making sure they flowed between her toes.

She wiggled them, spreading the juices herself.

Moridin might have found a new flawed perfect. A little beauty spot revealed itself to him as she wiggled her toes, between her big toe and second. Moridin sucked and licked it, forgetting why he was even here. Moiraine Sedai was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.


	2. Elayne and Nynaeve Take A Seat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moghedien catches Elayne and Nynaeve unaware, extorts information from them, and uses... excessive measures to get away
> 
> This is something I had in my files from long ago. I wanted to do more with it, but since I'm on my way out, I figured better publish it like this than not publish it at all. It does remain in spirit of our girls Elayne and Nynaeve spending a little more time together
> 
> I have a few scenes with my own characters, written and cut from their books, or just written for myself. I wonder whether those can be loosely repurposed with WoT or SA characters with just a little bit of editing. Would you be interested in that?

Rendra gave a start at the look on Nynaeve’s face, but her ever-present smile returned immediately. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but there is a woman below who asks for you. Not by name, but she describes you as you stand. She says that she believes she knows you. She is...” That rosebud mouth tightened in a slight grimace. “I forgot to ask her name. This morning I am the witless goat. She is a well-dressed woman, not yet to her middle years. Not of Tarabon.” She gave a little shiver. “A stern woman, I think. When first she saw me, she looked at me as my older sister did when we were children and she was thinking of tying my braids to the bush.”

“Or have they found us first?” Nynaeve said softly.

Elayne embraced the True Source before she thought of it, and felt a shudder of relief that she could, that she had not been shielded unaware. If the woman below was Black Ajah... But if she was, why announce herself? Even so, she wished the glow of saidar surrounded Nynaeve, too. If only the woman could channel without anger.

“Send her in,” Nynaeve said, and Elayne realized she was very much aware of her lack, and afraid. As Rendra turned to go, Elayne began weaving flows of Air, thick as cables and ready to bind, flows of Spirit to shield another from the Source. If this woman so much as resembled one on their list, if she tried to channel a spark...

The woman who stepped into the Chamber of Falling Blossoms, in a shimmering black silk gown of unfamiliar cut, was no one Elayne had ever seen before, and surely not on the list of the women who had gone with Liandrin. Dark hair spilling loose to her shoulders framed a sturdily handsome face with large, dark eyes and smooth cheeks, but not with Aes Sedai agelessness. Smiling, she closed the door behind her. “Forgive me, but I thought you were—” The glow of saidar surrounded her, and she...

Elayne released the True Source. There was something very commanding in those dark eyes, in the halo around her, the pale radiance of the One Power. She was the most regal woman Elayne had ever seen. Elayne found herself hurriedly curtsying, flushing that she had considered... What had she considered? So hard to think.

The woman studied them for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod and swept to the table, taking the carved chair at its head. “Come here where I can see you both more closely,” she said in a peremptory voice. “Come. Yes. That’s it.”

Elayne realized she was standing beside the table, looking down at the dark-eyed, glowing woman. She did hope that was all right. On the other side of the table Nynaeve had a tangle of her long, thin braids gripped in her fist, but she stared at the visitor with a foolishly rapt expression. It made Elayne want to giggle.

“About what I have come to expect,” the woman said. “Little more than girls, and obviously not close to half-trained. Strong, though; strong enough to be more than troublesome. Especially you.” She traced a finger down Nynaeve's stomach, lower, lower, and scratched her down there like one would a dog's chin. Nynaeve's face took on a confused expression, but the woman fixed her with her eyes. “You might become something one day. But you’ve blocked yourself, haven’t you? We would have had that out of you though you howled for it.”

Nynaeve still had that tight hold on her braids, but her face went from a pleased, girlish smile at praise to shamed lip-trembling. “I am sorry I blocked myself,” she almost whimpered, and presented her forward for more scratches. “I’m afraid of it.. all that power.. the One Power.. how can I—?”

“Be silent unless I ask a question,” the woman said firmly, and pinched something through the dress, making Nynaeve's mouth open in a silent scream. “And do not start crying. You are joyful at seeing me, ecstatic. All you want is to please me and answer my questions truthfully.”

Nynaeve nodded vigorously, smiling even more rapturously than before. Elayne realized that she was, too. She was sure she could answer the questions first. Anything to please this woman, who patted Nynaeve's crotch, licked that finger, and used it to call Elayne closer.

“Now. Are you alone? Are there any other Aes Sedai with you?”

“No,” Elayne said quickly in answer to the first question, and just as fast, to the second, “There are no Aes Sedai with us.” Perhaps she should tell that they were not really Aes Sedai either. But she had not been asked that. Nynaeve glared at her, knuckles white on her braids, furious at being beaten to the answer. Elayne stepped even closer, hands on hips, blushing, and got her pussy scratched, too. She smirked at Nynaeve, who began to tickle herself.

“Why are you in this city?” the woman said.

“We are hunting Black sisters,” Nynaeve burst out, shooting Elayne a triumphant look.

The handsome woman laughed. “So that is why I have not felt you channel before today. Wise of you to keep low when it is eleven to two. I have always followed that policy myself. Let other fools leap about in full view. They can be brought low by a spider hiding in the cracks, a spider they never see until it is too late. Tell me all you have discovered about these Black sisters, all you know of them.”

Elayne spilled out everything, battling with Nynaeve to be first. It was not very much. Their descriptions, the ter’angreal they had stolen, the murders in the Tower and the fear of more Black sisters still there, aiding one of the Forsaken in Tear before the Stone fell, their flight here seeking something dangerous to Rand. “They were all staying in a house together,” Elayne finished up, panting, swaying with the rhythm of the now-upturned hand that praisingly stroked her, pushing her dress between her thighs, in out in out. “They're in a house together, but they left last night.”

“It seems you came very close,” the woman said slowly. “Very close. Ter’angreal. Turn out your purses on the table, your pouches.” They did, and she fingered—oh she was already missing that hand between her legs—quickly through coins and sewing kits and handkerchiefs and the like. “Do you have any ter’angreal in your rooms? Angreal or sa’angreal?”

Elayne was conscious of the twisted stone ring hanging between her breasts and the amber plaque dream ter’angreal secure in a pocket inside her skirt for safekeeping—Nynaeve had the iron disc ter’angreal in a pocket beneath her skirts; those things could not be left lying about—but that was not the question. “No,” she said. They had none of those things in their room.

Pushing everything away, the woman leaned back and tickled both of them. While they glared at one another, she spoke half to herself. “Rand al’Thor. So that is his name now.” Her face crumpled in a momentary grimace and her stroking became rigorous. “An arrogant man who stank of piety and goodness. Is he still the same? No, do not bother to answer that. An idle question. So Be’lal is dead. The other sounds like Ishamael, to me. All his pride at being only half-caught, whatever the price—there was less human left in him than any of us when I saw him again; I think he half-believed he was the Great Lord of the Dark—all his three thousand years of machinations, and it comes to an untaught boy hunting him down. My way is best. Softly, softly," she scratched them with one single upturned finger on each word, "softly, in the shadows. Something to control a man who can channel. Yes, it would have to be that.” Her eyes turned sharp, studying them in turn. “Now. What to do with you.”

Elayne waited patiently. Nynaeve wore a silly smile, her lips parted expectantly for more pets; it looked especially foolish with the way she was gripping her braids.

“You are too strong to waste; you may be useful one day. I would love to see Rahvin’s eyes the day he meets you unblocked.” She wrapped her arm around Nynaeve and grabbed a handful of the girl's bottom, making her squeak. “I would put you off this hunt of yours, if I could. A pity compulsion is so limited. Still, with the little you have learned, you are too far behind to catch up now. I suppose I must collect you later and see to your.. retraining.” She stood, and Nynaeve immediately looked dejected. The woman eyed Elayne head to toe, gently took her face by her cheeks, and planted a kiss on the lips she forced to pucker. "You're sweeter than your mother."

The woman pulled back, and suddenly Elayne’s entire body tingled. Her brain seemed to shiver; she was conscious of nothing but the woman’s voice, roaring in her ears like a tremendous ocean storm. “You will raise your skirts and plant yourselves onto the bulb atop your chair backrests until I am an hour gone. When your blood has dried, you will drop your skirts and remember nothing of what happened here except that I came thinking you were friends I knew from the country. I was mistaken, I had a cup of tea, and I left.”

Elayne blinked and wondered why she had already set up a chair behind hers so that she could plant her feet on either side of her backrest. She had, in fact, already kicked off her slippers, climbed up onto the chairs, tucked her lifted skirts into her armpits, and squatted over a fist sized knob, spreading the lips below her golden-carpet. Mother’s milk in a cup, Nynaeve was frowning at her own bare thighs as she lowered herself onto her chair. Coarse brown lady hairs crinkled as the woman’s legs bent, forming a diamond shape, feet pointed outward. She separated a hanging mess of lady folds and lowered herself further.

By time the knob was halfway into Nynaeve, Elayne started to feel it. A sensation, building. Not a good one like the pets from earlier, but she kept her feet planted and spread her knees, lowering herself, aiming to please. A tearing came, which left Elayne feeling sad for some reason. She was technically still a virgin... kind of. She didn't have much time to ruminate, for another ripping sensation tore through her groin, one not so natural as the first. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she smiled.

“A nice woman,” Elayne said, raising her heels from the chair so more of her weight could force the knob deeper. She had a headache coming on. “Did she give her name? I don’t remember.”

“Nice?” Nynaeve grabbed the backrest and _yanked_ herself down. She plopped down into place, her thighs slapping against the curved wooden chair tops. Virgin's blood had rimmed her knob, but this action made blood _ooze_ from between her legs, dripping and giving the wood a new stain. Her hand came up laced with it, then grabbed and gave a sharp tug to her braids. “About time. Nice she was. I... do not think she did give a name..”

“What were we talking of when she came in?” Egeanin had just gone. What had it been? Elayne clamped her feet to either side of her backrest, toes gripping the columns, then took a page from Nynaeve’s book, grabbing the chair and tugging. She heard a distinct creak from her pelvis, and the tearing feeling intensified tenfold. It was like someone had stuck a knife in her and turned it. Then turned it again. The pain went on and on and so did time. Why was she staying in this position as the minutes passed? Why was she smiling as she bled? A numbness began to form at the core of her pelvis, but it only added a new level of pain. Needles, millions of them. Her legs weakened, too, and she sunk further down. The middle beam slipped between her butt cheeks. It would have been painful to rest on something so thin, but she had a distinct stretching feeling within her. Her hand settled on her lower abdomen and cupped around a bulge. Her insides were holding her up.

The same had happened to Nynaeve, and the pain on her face didn’t at all match the fascination she stroked her belly with.

Soon enough, their blood began to dry on their thighs. But an hour had not passed. So Elayne waited, wondering why she did, as she slowly slid further down. Her insides were stretching. Which was why eventually, her rear pelvic bone roared with pain, her entire weight on that thin piece of wood.

That made it even harder to move once an hour had finally arrived. Elayne tried to stand, but her legs failed to remove her from her knob. Clutching the chair with hands and feet, she pushed as hard as she had pulled earlier and with a pop, the wood came away red, and she found that her lady hairs were red too. _Interesting_ , she thought, lowering her skirts.

She stepped off the chair and fell to her knees. Hmm. She struggled to keep herself upright, feeling an odd sensation down below. It had never been this bad, not even when she used to steal away to her rooms as a girl and have a little fun with her fingers and quills.

“I remember what I was about to say.” Nynaeve said, also on her knees, holding the table. Her voice was firm, but her free hand clutched her crotch. “We must find the Black sisters without them suspecting.” She pressed her legs together, agony forming on her face. “Or we will never have a chance of following them to whatever this thing is that’s dangerous to Rand.”

“I know,” Elayne said patiently as she fell face first onto the floor. Light cursed father’s seed upon lips, this was the worst cycle pain any baby-baker had ever felt. And, had they said this already? Of course not. “We have discussed it.”

Nynaeve's face hit the floor beside her, and they discussed the rest of their itinerary right there.


	3. Morning Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compulsion is a dark art. It is even darker in the beauty-obsessed Graendal's hands.

The Dreadlords fancied themselves powerful. They were. Tarmon Gaidon raged and the Light lost ground one skirmish at a time. But combat was an unimaginative battlefield. It paled in comparison to the subtle complexities of the mind. The mind was Graendal's battlefield.

"Come here," she said to a young woman kneeling in the corner of her room. Isendre, one of Graendal's newest tools. Not a valuable one, for she had zero connections out in the real world, but she had the flowing body of a dancer and her smile was nothing short of seductive. She had dark hair and a pale, heart-shaped face.

Graendal, sitting at her dressing table, watched through her mirror as Isendre rose and glided over, her red, transparent dress rippling around her slender form as she moved. Yes, Graendal was quite happy that she'd kept this one. She'd found her naked, save for some jewelry, and beaten senseless by the Aiel woman with nettles. Asmodean and Lanfear's work. They'd have seen the youth killed, and what a waste it would have been. Good thing Graendal had taken care of Asmodean. As for Lanfear, she was one of Graendal's tools now. Her services would be needed soon.

"One hundred strokes," Graendal said.

Without further compulsion, Isendre brushed Graendal's red-gold curls. Even those brushstrokes were graceful. The sultry movements reminded Graendal of another of her tools. But the woman was not without flaws. Her bosom was akin to that youthful frame, and with them visible in the same mirror as Graendal's own, the woman might as well have been flat.

The same could be said for the pale Aes Sedai who knocked on the door. With her head bowed, her long brown ringlets of hair blocked her breasts, but Graendal had played with that body enough to know its contours intimately. Moiraine Damodred was as petite as they came, and somehow looked both ageless and younger than Isendre at the same time. Wilder. She preferred blue, so Graendal had fashioned her transparent dress in a cool shade.

"What is it?" Graendal asked.

"Your breakfast is ready," Moiraine said. Her head still bowed, but her eye twitched as she spoke. Of all Graendal's new tools, she worried about this one the most. Even more than Lanfear.

Graendal tightened the weave on Moiraine's mind, and the woman's face relaxed, lower lip hanging. She did have some nice lips.

"I will be right there," Graendal said.

Moiraine bowed deeper and should turn to go, but that eye twitched again and she remained bowed. Who did this child think she was? Graendal's own eye twitched.

Isendre's elegant brush strokes grew shaky and she visibly tensed. But she need not fear. Graendal wouldn't grow mad over the rebellion of a bug. She'd just show the bug how easily she could squash it.

Her weave hit Moiraine like a hammer, and the woman recoiled out of her bow. Her lower jaw hung and drool dripped from her mouth. Her eyes stared blankly at nothing.

"Don't forget your place," Graendal said. "Don't forget who you are either. Come, Moiraine Damodred. Kiss my cheek and return to your kitchens."

In shaky steps, Moiraine stepped forward. No twitches. She bent down like a statue with joints and pressed those pretty peach lips to Graendal's cheek. It wasn't satisfying. When this one recovered tomorrow, they could try this again, but for now...

"Moiraine, tell me what Isendre's tongue tastes like."

Moiraine reached for Isendre, who's eyes widened. "But Madam," Isendre said. "In that state, she's going to bite off my tong—"

Graendal spun Moiraine's control weave into an instruction to backhand Isendre. The smack reverberated across the room.

Isendre held her cheek, but said no more. She trembled, and took one step back, but otherwise, did not resist as Moiraine looked up at her and slipped her tongue between her lips. Moiraine roved around until Isendre decided that defying Graendal was worse than losing her tongue. She opened her mouth, and what followed was nothing short of breathtaking. When Isendre realised she was safe, she reciprocated, leaning down to Moiraine, snaking their tongues around each others to taste as far back as possible.

Graendal absently massaged her breast as the woman breathed hot breaths into the short gap between their lips.

"Enough enough," Graendal said. "For Shaitan's sake, it's still morning."

Moiraine pulled out and immediately turned to Graendal, leaving the sane Isendre reeling like a girl whose date walked out on her.

"She tastes like—"

"Whatever," Graendal said. "I obviously just wanted to see you two make out. To the kitchens with you."

The blathering idiot of a child looked confused, but turned to leave, and Graendal quite enjoyed watching that shapely rear move, one side rising as the other fell, back and forth. It wasn't the elegance of Isendre or Graendal's tool from Mayene, but the simple elegance of a woman.

Graendal let Isendre finish her one hundred strokes, then put on a purple robe over her shift. Both garments were transparent, but it was chilly here in Andor this time of year. Before breakfast, she went to the bathroom to take care of business. A tool waited for her in here. A man they both knew had once said that beside this woman, Graendal was just plumply pretty. That man—Raven—was now dead, too, though not by her hand. Unfortunate. But the smooth, ivory-pale skinned beauty he referred to was now wiping Graendal's behind. Lanfear had always favoured long white dresses with a silver belt, divided for riding, and boots with silver worked into them. Graendal let her wear her white, though this dress was of course transparent, and shorter than her too-perfect buttocks. Her silver trimmings were now fashioned into a hook that held onto her nostrils, ran up and over her pretty head, down her back, between her butt cheeks and vaginal folds, up her stomach, and split to hook onto the rings in her pierced nipples. The rings Graendal had taken from the noses of bulls. Appropriate for this cow. She'd also done Lanfear's piercings herself. With barbwire. Said barbwire was the connecting rod between the nose and nipple hooks, and it was cut so that it was just too short. That kept her tits constantly weighted down, and her nose pointing to the roof.

With the compulsion, she moved as if the contraption wasn't there, which made for quite the show of blood when she bent to do her duty as an asswipe. Her breasts stretched like thin waterskins, the barbwire ripped into her skin all around her body, and the wing of her pert nose tore under the hook's tension. But she went about her job, completely unaware of the tears running down her destroyed face. This was satisfying even if Lanfear didn't have her mind.

Graendal straightened her shift, Healed Lanfear's torn nose—sending the woman into a cold shock on the toilet floor—and went for breakfast in her chambers.

Here, her favorite queens served her. Morgase Trakand set the table. Her sun-gold waves and curls usually fell to her shoulders, but it was tied up in a net—Graendal didn't fancy the hair enough to eat it. It still looked like a regal up-style on the woman. Nearly as full of figure as Graendal herself, Morgase cut a voluptuous profile. There was nothing more to her presence here other than her looks and former station. Like Isendre and Lanfear, she was more a trophy than a tool. Moiraine and Berelain, though. They, as far as the world was concerned, were still on the side of the Light.

Speaking of, Berelain glided into the room in a way that put Isendre's elegance, Moiraine's shape, Lanfear's beauty, and Morgase's regality to shame. The sway of those hips... If walking were akin to the bliss of sex, Berelain's movement was endless orgasm. She made Graendal herself simply watch, rapt, as she took a seat on the other side of the table. There, she smiled, and began to eat, her vacant eyes on Graendal as she primly went about her meal.

This was the most fascinating creature of them all. Pale skin, dark eyes, black hair. Hips and Bosom somewhere between Isendre and Morgase. Waist like Moiraine. These were traits that should place her high in Graendal's collection, but not at the top. No matter how much Graendal hated to admit it, Lanfear belonged there. But there was something about this woman. Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron. Sultry. Decadent. She oozed sex, yet she looked nubile. She was the embodiment of everything Graendal's prizes were meant to embody. Raw, unadulterated pleasure to the senses. Graendal had even considered killing herself in the hopes of being given that body, but—besides the obvious risk there—she feared no one could embody this ideal other than Berelain herself, and destroying that would be the greatest loss humankind had ever known. So Graendal enjoyed her presence as often as possible. The girl had much work to do at the wolf and Whitecloaks' sides. As did Moiraine at al'Thor's.

Graendal ate her meal entertained by Berelain's presence. Morgase came by with a drink, and Graendal pinched that round ass. She jumped like a young barmaid and spilled the drink on herself. Her large nipples hardened beneath the soaked dress, which clung to her contours right down to her navel. Graendal didn't send her to change. It wasn't that cold. Besides, it was nice watching her walk around like that, the clinging dress amplifying how her breasts swayed as she moved.

"Bring me another of those," Graendal instructed. When the drink came, Morgase leaned over to place it on the table, and Graendal grabbed a handful of wet bosom. The woman's chest hung like tropical fruits, ripe for the picking, and were rather tender for the woman's age. She sighed and winced like a girl as Graendal squeezed.

"Take the drink," Graendal said, confusing Morgase. "Toss it on her."

Mogase straightened, fruits resting back on her chest, and took the drink to Berelain.

With a flick of the cup, the liquid splashed across Berelain's face and neck. The woman continued her meal as the liquid ran down her expansive bosom, forming that dress and her hair to her roundness. Small pink nipples shone through, flat.

"Blow on them."

Morgase blew, and Berelain shivered. Graendal never knew someone so sultry could look cute. Her nipples hardened to points. Goosebumps ran across the milk skin around them, and the sight made Graendal enjoy her meal two-fold.

"Massage her."

Morgase put down her tray and got behind Berelain. As she leaned down, her own breasts rested on Berelain's head, pushed up, and her chin sat in her cleavage. Berelain kept eating, smiling at Graendal occasionally as small hands cupped her breasts from behind and squeezed. Wetness oozed between the queen's fingers, and Berelain's lips parted ever so slightly. She put a bite in her mouth and chewed with her eyes closed, leaning back into Morgase's cushions. Those rose, raising the older woman's chin, and she made an "mmm" sound.

They carried on that way, Berelain sighing too, and would continue until Graendal said otherwise. She didn't. The woman rubbed against each other, growing louder. Berelain twitched once, twice, and leaned forward, panting. Morgase came forward with her, still massaging the now-hanging chest. Looking closely, Graendal saw a white fluid oozing from Morgase's nipples. She was lactating. Her milk ran down Berelain's cheek, passed the side of her mouth. The black haired beauty took a bite of food, then licked the milk like sauce. Her tongue sticking out of her mouth for Morgase's discharges was decidedly one of the hottest things Graendal had ever seen.

She was squeezing her own tits and cunt, and hadn't even realised it. She ordered the woman apart, and they went back to their roles as if nothing had happened. When Morgase brought the next drink, Graendal actually drank it. She did so while squeezing the woman's teet. She was still lactating.

Graendal emptied her glass and made Morgase bend over it. Then she milked the woman for a whole quarter glass from each udder. The queen's winces were to die for.

"Here," she offered the glass. "Take a sip."

Morgase hesitated, then frowned at her chest, as if trying to piece together the link between the milk and her body. She could tell there was something there to notice, but ultimately gave up and took a sip.

Why was watching her drink her own breastmilk so alluring?

"Enough. Pour the rest into Berelain's plate."

Morgase walked over and emptied the glass over Berelain's food. It covered her meat, dripping off as she cut a piece and raised it to her mouth.

"Is it good?" Graendal asked.

Berelain smiled and nodded, taking another bite using a spoon this time.

Compulsion could make them so dumb sometimes. Well, it was fun. Graendal finished her meal and excused herself, ready for the rest of her day. She sent Morgase to bring Isendre, Moiraine, and Lanfear—who began to bleed again when she sat. She tried to tilt her head down to eat, but there was only so much she could stretch her nose. There was certainly no stretching the barbwire, or pulling it for that matter. It was hooked in her skin all around her body and embedded in the slits and cracks she sat on. Isendre had seen this many a time, but she stared as if disturbed.

Bother. Graendal ordered they remove the contraption from Lanfear. Her dress came off with it, tattered and tangled in the barbs. No need to Heal her yet. Removing the device was kindness enough. They sat Lanfear down, shivering and bleeding in her nakedness, and Graendal let the tools and trophies hungrily pick at her left overs.

"Take it easy," she told the five woman. "You're only valuable to me so long as you have your figures."

They reluctantly removed over half the food they'd put into their plates. "Yes, Madam Graendal," they said in chorus like scolded children, even the queens and Lanfear. _That_ , was always satisfying. What better way could she possibly start her day? She knew. She told the ladies to rub the spiciest dish there into Lanfear's wounds before Healing her. Graendal walked off, chucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad that I couldn't make it to finish Chapter 2 of Berelain's story this month. So I decided to write this quick story so you could spend some time with the ladies you've wanted to see from me. (It low key took much longer than a 'quick story' should take, but that's how writing goes) I'd appreciate it if you showed this story some love in the kudos and comments.
> 
> Which lady was your favorite?


End file.
